First to Hit the Ground
by Alex E. Andras
Summary: Teenchester. Sam runs away after becoming the target of bullies, leaving John and Dean to try and find him before he lands in trouble.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Teenchester. Sam runs away after becoming the target of bullies, leaving John and Dean to try and find him before he lands in trouble.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, it's all owned by Eric Kripke and them at CW. Written for pleasure, not profit.

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1

Sam Winchester stood frozen in the dark, eyes watching the shadows that shifted around the trees he was surrounded by, hardly daring to breath encase he missed a noise, a single snap of a twig or the rustle of a leaf, one hand clutching his gun close to his chest, the fingers of the other resting nervously against the frigid metal of the pen knife in his pocket.

Around him the trees shivered with the wind, making him more nervous as his hearing picked up every creak of the branches, and he suddenly shivered himself, his entire body caught by the tremble that caught him as the wind got through the barrier of his clothes, as the cold crept against his skin.

Miserably, he removed his hand from his pocket to chafe at his opposite arm, the aim of creating warmth in his numbing arm only caused to make his hand burn with the cold, and he scowled now, fingers trembling against the gun as a harder shiver shook him and he took another look at the trees around him.

The scrap of material from one of John's old shirts that should have been tied to one of the tree limbs or bushes was still evading his searching gaze, and he sighed, trying to bury himself even further into his thin jacket, leaning into the tree his back was against. He had no doubts that he was lost now, though he knew that he'd followed the trail perfectly.

A low rumble broke the air, and he raised his head towards the night sky, the scowl deepening as water hit his cheek, followed shortly by more hitting his forehead, his nose. It had started to rain. _Excellent._

He dropped his head despondently, allowed himself to slide down the rough bark of the tree until he was sitting on the ground, knees pulled up against his chest, one arm curled around his knees to try and stave off the cold, the other hand still tight around the gun, held seemingly relaxed in front of him. Another rumble trembled through the air, making him tremble with it, the rain was getting heavier, starting to soak his hair and jacket rather than just spot down, and he grumbled incoherently into his knees.

He heard another noise over the rain and wind now, and his head jerked up, thudding dully against the tree, though he ignored the sudden shot of pain, fingers tightening convulsively around the gun, trying to pinpoint from where the sound of something moving through the trees was coming from. He knew that John had done research on the woods before they had driven out there, knew that his father wouldn't have set him on this little tracking practise if the woods were obviously dangerous, at least not until John himself had removed any supernatural threat within, but other things could reside in the woods, and it was possible that nothing had been obviously pulled to light in the way of what his father hunted, which is why the gun was a necessary.

The sound of movement through the trees grew louder, and Sam was able to pinpoint its direction to his right, and shifted his body accordingly, gun held steady and ready to fire upon whatever came through the trees. He considered briefly standing up, but he was too cold and wet to move that much, and he was possibly a smaller and less noticeable target as he was on the ground than he was stood up.

Whatever was moving towards him was practically within sight, and Sam's fingers began to curl around the trigger of the gun, whoever it was human, or something supernatural, he could see light moving through the trees, not enough to show him who was closing in on him, but enough for a tiny patch of ground to be illuminated, ensuring the person didn't fall over any roots or into any dips or rabbit holes. It also allowed Sam to roughly make out their position, and his gun rose up, ready to take the shot if they noticed him.

A sudden burst of lightning shattered the dark then, and Sam pressed tighter against the tree, hissing almost silently as the flash ruined his night vision, but then his body relaxed minutely, the gun wavering its position as he saw who was approaching, recognised the person.

"Dean?" he called out tentatively, ready to move if he was wrong. The other person stopped moving

"Sam?" the reply allowed relief to flood through Sam, and the gun dropped from his numbed fingers, the light swung up and around, his brother pinpointing the sound of the fallen gun and Sam gave a small yell as the beam assaulted his vision.

"Ah, hell," he heard his brother say, and heard him move towards him as another rumble of thunder cut through the air. "Sam?" He blinked against the dancing spots in his vision as the light was moved to point at his feet, and then looked up into his brother's concerned face

"Hey Dean," he greeted, pulling in on himself again as he shivered.

Dean saw the move and frowned, crouching down in front of Sam and reaching out, his gun was held in the hand wasn't curled around his maglite, and Sam watched it carefully.

"Shit Sammy," he swore as soon as his hand came into contact with Sam's, and his hand pulled back to stow the gun safely against the small of his back

"Sorry," Sam whispered, head dropping so his forehead rested against his knees "Got lost."

"We guessed as much," Dean replied, and then his tone became gentler, "Dad walked in with me a bit, some of your trail's gone, must've come loose and lost with the wind. It's not your fault." He felt Dean's hands against the tops of his arms and shivered miserably under the pressure, "Come on runt." He pulled Sam to his feet with a soft grunt, and Sam immediately staggered forwards, burying his face into Dean's t-shirt, fingers numbly trying to close around his brother's flannel shirt as he sought heat.

Dean muttered something that was lost to Sam, and the younger Winchester only raised his head when something heavy and warm was dropped around his shoulders, swamping his figure entirely, and one hand closed possessively around the leather, noticing only now that Dean had taken off the jacket

"You'll get cold," Sam said, letting Dean shift him away and pick up the dropped gun and his maglite

"And you'll get sick," he retorted, straightening up and wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders, pulling him close "Dad's waiting with the car, but it's about a half-hours walk, alright?" there wasn't any other options if it wasn't, and they both knew it, but Sam nodded anyway, now that Dean had found him the headache that had been hounding him for the past half hour came to his attention, but he did his best not to show the pain, he didn't need his brother to worry any more than he already was.

Dean merely frowned down at him, pulling the younger boy even closer to him as he felt Sam's constant shivers. Sam's training had supposedly been an hour and a half affair, John had walked it himself some time that afternoon laying out the trail, though they'd given Sam an extra half hour after he didn't appear encase he was daydreaming, and then John had merely glanced at Dean, and the eldest of the Winchester boys had all but ran into the woods to look for his brother.

Sam was stumbling by the time they broke from the trees to the car park. The rain was coming down in sheets now, Dean as wet as Sam, but nowhere near as cold as the younger, who had been leaning his weight more and more against his brother over the past half an hour, and now Dean was practically dragging him, Sam all but buried into his side.

"Dean!" his head snapped up at the shout, focussing in on John where he stood illuminated in the Impala's headlamps. Their father was just as wet as them, and Dean guessed he had probably been pacing ever since his eldest had disappeared into the woods in search of Sam. He merely gave John a tired smile, fielding Sam towards the car, and dragged his brother into the back seat, pulling off his saturated shirt and removing the leather jacket from around Sam's shoulders.

The door he'd pulled Sam through slammed shut, and they had a moment of silence before John got into the front of the car, slamming his own door shut and twisting to look at his half-drowned sons as Dean brushed Sam's hair from his face, slyly checking his temperature at the same time.

"Sammy?" John questioned

"I'm alright dad," Sam said quietly, trying to push Dean's hand away, but his brother scowled down at him and looked sharply at John

"He's warm dad," he said truthfully "I think he's ill." He gave Sam a look, as though daring him to argue, but the headache that Sam had started with had grown immensely in the last half hour, and he merely buried his head into Dean's arm, trying to block out the worried gazes and voices of his family.

John nodded, studying Sam for a moment more before he turned to face forwards, ratcheting up the heat as he started the car, and pulled off to leave the woods behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

2

He came awake to the feeling of weightlessness that ended abruptly but pleasantly to when his back came into contact with something soft. The surface sunk slightly at his left, and he unconsciously shifted minutely to the warmth and safety of the body. A hand landed coolly on his forehead, and his eyelids sprang open.

"Dad," he said, voice slightly hoarse, and John smiled down at him

"You've got a fever Sam," John explained, and without lifting his head he continued, "Bring over the first aid kit, Dean." Sam didn't hear the response from his brother, but his head rolled to the side as a dull thump vibrated through the floor, and his eyes watched the dust fly and settle around the dropped weapons duffel, and then travelled up to see Dean crossing towards John, the large white box of medical supplies held in his hands

"You look like hell," he told Sam as he dropped the box at their father's feet, crouching at Sam's side as John opened the box and began to paw through it, and Dean's cool hand replaced John's at Sam's forehead.

"Thanks, jerk," Sam replied quietly, and though Dean smirked he didn't throw back his usual reply, his eyes shone with worry, and with a sigh Sam turned his eyes from his brother, allowed his gaze to roam the dusty floor, the peeling floral wallpaper and the cracked glass coffee table, they had gotten no further than the living room of the crumbling house they were renting, and Sam laid an easy guess that he had been deposited onto the couch.

John straightened then with the thermometer, and with a tired sigh Sam opened his mouth, turned his head to the yellowed ceiling as they waited.

"Go and dry off Dean," he heard John say, "I don't want you sick as well. Bring a blanket back for your brother." Dean appeared briefly in Sam's view as he rose, and the cool hand was removed from his forehead when Dean left to do as John had ordered, leaving the eldest and youngest Winchesters alone in silence. Although it wasn't long before Sam felt John's weight shift beside him, and a silent struggle began between John and Sam's shoes.

"Sorry Dad," Sam whispered after one foot was released from its prison, and John paused, hands wrapped around one booted foot, head turning to look at his youngest, pale save for the high points of fever burning on his cheeks, damp hair curling across his head.

"What?" he asked, and Sam's head swung, found his father's gaze with his own

"Sorry got lost," Sam sounded so much younger when he was ill, the thermometer clicking against his teeth as he spoke, looked so much younger, and John felt a well of anger in himself for allowing his son to get ill "Sorry didn't get back."

"It's my fault," John replied briskly, turning his head from his son's to resume the fight with Sam's boot "You lost the trail, because of the wind," he added, because several years of training Sam and many more caring for his occasionally ill child had taught him that Sam tended to blame himself for everything when he was ill. Sam gave no response, and there was a brief silence before the teenager gave a soft sigh as his gaze returned to the ceiling, and John was able to slid the boot off his foot, and set it on the floor beside the other. He turned to face Sam again now, though his youngest did not move his gaze from the ceiling, and so John moved forwards, plucking the thermometer from Sam's mouth.

"What is it?" Dean asked, having re-entered the room as John read the temperature, and he scowled when the man didn't reply, merely returned the thermometer to the first aid box, digging out a small bottle before straightening and setting a hand briefly on Sam's too warm forehead "Dad?"

"He'll be alright, Dean," John responded, rising from Sam's side now, and looking appreciatively at Dean's hand, which clutched not only Sam's duvet, but also a pair of sweatpants and new t-shirt "I need to get your brother a glass of water," John said, setting the bottle on the coffee table before he left the room. Dean was already at Sam's side, frowning as he took John's position on the edge of the couch.

"Come on then runt," he said, dropping his load onto his lap and reaching forward to grab Sam's shoulders "Let's get you into dry clothes and then you can sleep." Sam's eyes widened as he was pulled upright, and he focussed on his brother

"Dean?" he croaked

"I'm here," his brother replied, tugging at Sam's soggy shirt until the younger got the message and raised his arms "I don't think Dad's gonna give you any training for a while." He pulled the dry t-shirt over Sam's head, pulling his brother round so they were sat side-by-side, feet on the floor

"Oh," Sam said, leaning heavily into Dean "Sick?"

"Yeah," Dean responded, wondering why Sam always dropped IQ points when he got ill "You going to be able to put these on?" he held up the sweatpants, and for a minute Sam merely blinked at them, before he moved to struggle out of his wet jeans and into the sweats.

Dean was just getting him settled again on the couch when John reappeared, glass of water in hand, and he crouched beside Sam, earning a muttered comment from his youngest as he raised his head from the chair arm

"I need you to take some Tylenol, Sam," John explained, taking up the bottle from the table and shaking out two "Then you can get some rest, okay?" Sam murmured a possible affirmative, allowed John to hand him both tablets and water, and clumsily choked them down. He was blinking lethargically as John settled him again, ignored the hand that rested briefly on his forehead, merely turned his head into the couch as sleep claimed him.

"He'll be alright Dean," John again said to his eldest, though the set of Dean's jaw promised that he'd be staying with his brother until he was sure Sam was over the fever, and without another word John rose from the couch.

"Dad?" the soft voice startled John, and he froze at the door to look back at Sam, his youngest awake now, though not for long if his drooping eyelids were anything to go by "School?" beside the couch there came a snort from Dean, and John allowed himself a real smile, only his youngest could think of going to school the next day whilst he was sick.

"We'll see Sam." Was all he said before he left them, Dean starting to clean the guns from the duffel, Sam easing back into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

3

The school bell was just ringing as the Impala pulled up in front of it, and the car had barely stopped before Dean was swinging open the passenger door, tugging the bottom of his jacket straight as the back door opened and Sam slid out of the car and leant back in to pull his book bag out.

"Maybe you should stay home, Sammy," Dean suggested, expecting no less then his younger brother adamantly shook his head

"I'm alright," he said, sniffing heavily as he hefted the bag onto his shoulders, wiping his nose against his wrist.

"His fever's broken Dean," John added in as Dean wrinkled in nose "It's just a cold." Dean nodded his affirmation, Sam's fever had indeed broken, and the younger Winchester had managed to get some sleep, but the cold he was left with made him seem too pale and worn, the puffy eyes from his blocked sinuses giving him the look of not having slept.

"Sam," John's attention was on his youngest son now, and Sam sniffed again as he looked to his father "If you're feeling worse get Dean to call me, alright? I'm researching at the library, but I can come and pick you up."

"Yes Sir," Sam agreed, his voice coming out in a croak that made Dean frown, but John was nodding, pulling the car away from the school, and his sons were left to follow the stragglers into the building.

"You come and find me if you're feeling bad Sam," Dean ordered as they entered the building "I mean it."

"I'll be alright Dean," Sam said quietly, glancing at the almost deserted hallway as he shifted slightly, worried that he'd be late

"Yeah, well," Dean relied brokenly "I'll come and see how you are at lunch." The remark made Sam pause, and the younger flashed a quizzical look up at his brother

"Don't you have history then?" he asked

"So I'll skip," Dean shrugged, clapping Sam on the shoulder and turning to walk down the corridor that would take him to his class "I'll see you later Sammy!" Sam sighed, though his face was broken by a wide grin, and he quickly darted down the corridor.

He skidded to a stop outside of his classroom, only his quick reflexes saving him from running into his home-room teacher, and Mr McAllister frowned down at the boy, who quickly ducked his head as the heat rushed to his cheeks.

"Sorry Sir," he said quietly, frowning slightly at the heaves his chest was doing, his cold restricting his airways "I didn't want to be late." His teacher nodded, smiling even though Sam couldn't see it with his head ducked, and pushed the door open.

"In, Mr Winchester," he said "If you're at your desk by the time I'm at the desk I'll forget you were running late." Sam's head rose, flashing a grin at his teacher, and he swiftly moved into the room, sneezing as he went.

His bag thumped to the floor as Mr McAllister called for order, and he dropped into his seat gratefully, glancing across the room to smile at his friend David as the other boy glanced his way, and the boy returned the grin before turning back towards the front of the class.

McAllister gave the students one final glance as the last few descended into silence, and then sat down, pulling the register before him. The moment his head dropped and he started calling out names the usual low hum of chatter began as students leant out of their seats to continue conversations with their neighbours. Sam sighed, eyes widening with surprise as the action set off a round of coughs that made his chest ache, and then once the coughs had subsided he rested his head tiredly against a hand, staring down at the scarred wood of his desk.

Something white flew into his line of vision, startling him to sit straight as it bounced on the corner of his desk and flew under another desk. He had no time to speculate on it before another small white blur bounced onto his desk, rolling to a stop on the edge and identifying itself as a small piece of eraser before another piece struck his shoulder and bounced off, and another bounced off his head.

A low growl built up in his throat, and Sam whipped his head around, eyes searching for his assailant. Several of the students who sat in the seats behind him looked startled, and he quickly focused on the grinning face of Jordan Walker, and then followed the hand movements of the blond boy as he reached for another piece of wrecked eraser from the small pile on his desk and tossed it at Sam, who merely blinked as the missile overshot and flew past his shoulder.

With another sigh and a cough, Sam turned back around in his chair. He'd been expecting it, after all, you didn't move into a new school mid-term without the expectation of hazing, and with the Winchester's movements he'd been under the reach of school bullies a number of times, but they'd been at this school for a week now, and he'd begun to relax, thinking that he was getting a respite for once.

Another piece of eraser bounced off his desk, mockingly tell him that he'd not escaped.

The day progressed, with Sam and David discussing their weekend as they walked from homeroom to first class, with Sam inventing visiting a relative in the place of his training and then enduring an hour of having his chair kicked and his hair pulled by Jordan. And by the time that the bell eventually rang to signal the end of his third lesson, and the beginning of lunch, Sam's head was pounding and his chest and throat ached with the force of his coughs.

He ducked his head, snuffling into his coat as he brushed his pen and books into his bag and pulled the bag onto his back, and then followed the stream of kids from the classroom and into the corridor, moving with the crowd but keeping his eyes open for David, who had a separate class to Sam before lunch.

He was so distracted that he missed the foot that shot out and caught him around the shins, making him stumble and slam into the lockers that lined the corridor. He slid down them as people giggled around him, blinking dazedly as he saw Jordan's grinning maw loom up before the other boy was swept away with the crowd, and then a strong arm was pulling him up.

"…the hell did you let him get the drop on you, Sam?" he heard, and his head snapped round to up at his brother "You're better than that, runt, coulda ripped his lungs out, no problem. Dick."

"Dea-?" Sam said, and Dean turned his head from where he'd been staring up the corridor to look at Sam, concern flashing into his gaze for a moment as he set a hand on Sam's forehead

"Damn fever's back!" he raged, hand snapping away from Sam's forehead to punch the lockers, and several stragglers jumped, lingering for a moment at the thought of a possible fight before scurrying away as Dean threw them a glare, "I told you to find me as soon as you felt bad Sammy! Dad told you he'd pick you up the second you felt worse!"

"Dea?" Sam repeated, to befuddled to really listening to Dean's rambling, his head pounded terribly and he missed the cool touch that his brothers hand had created on his forehead, "Don' feel well," he instinctively leant forwards, seeking out comfort from his brother.

Dean froze as Sam leant into him, and then wrapped a single arm around the smaller boy, tugging his too warm brother against his chest as he dragged his phone from his pocket, eyeing Sam worriedly as he dialled John's number and then started to walk, half-dragging Sam alongside him as he moved towards the front doors of the school

"Dad? Can you pick us up? Sam's fever's back."


	4. Chapter 4

4

The car journey back to the house was silent, the only sounds the roar of the Impala's engine and the occasional sniffles and coughs from Sam. The youngest Winchester was curled up on the back seat, head resting on the glass of the window, arms around knees that were pulled up to his chest. His gaze was on the back of the front seats, though his fever-bright cheeks gave evidence to that he probably wasn't even seeing it.

Dean was sat up front with John, though kept glancing backwards to Sam curled pitifully up in the back. Each glance at his obviously ill brother made the anger that rested in his gut rise, though even he couldn't tell who his anger was aimed at; the kid who had tripped Sam in school, Sam for refusing to say he was sick, John for swearing that it was 'just a cold', or himself for not arguing until both Sam and their father had agreed with him, and Sam had stayed home.

The car pulled into the drive, and the cut of the motor and into the following silence Sam moaned, lifting his head from the window and looking out of it for the first time since they'd gotten into the car.

"We're home Sam," John assured his youngest, opening his door "Lets get you to bed." He moved from the car, digging out the house keys and tossing them to Dean as he did the same before going to open Sam's door, undoing his seatbelt and lifting his youngest son easily into his arms.

"Just as well he's still a runt," Dean muttered as he moved towards the front door, and John smirked, recognising Dean's attempt at humour for his worry over his younger brother. Sam heard it as well, for he blinked and turned his head towards Dean, mumbling something along the lines of 'jerk' before turning his head into John's chest, making John snort as he carried Sam over the threshold.

He could hear Dean moving around in the kitchen, heard the squeak and then gush of water as taps were turned, and smiling slightly he turned and started up the stairs, for once happy that his youngest was still so small, he doubted he'd have been able to get Sam up to his bed if he was much taller. The door to Sam's room was slightly ajar, left that way from the night before when Dean had gone in to get his brother dry clothes, and John was thankful that he didn't have to try the handle with Sam in his arms, instead pushing the door with his foot, happy again, this time for the fact that it was Sam he was carrying – his youngest son being the most organised child, no, _person _John had ever met – and not Dean as he moved easily over to the bed, snorting when he noticed the open drawers and the strewn clothes, Dean's doing from the night before, and Sam had been woken too late to tidy it this morning before school.

He froze as he went to set Sam on the bed, his youngest had shot out a hand, grabbing hold of John's shirt and holding tight, refusing to let go, and the man looked at his youngest for a moment with surprise, and then his expression softened, and he turned, sat down on the bed and edged backwards until his back was flush against the headboard, manoeuvring Sam so he was half lying against his chest, half on the bed, and gently brushed sweat-damp hair from Sam's forehead, letting out an annoyed sigh that the fever was back, though not angry with Sam, but with himself, he should have known better and kept Sam home from school.

"Dad?" Dean was at the door, a glass of water in one hand, the first aid kit in the other "Is he gonna be alright?" John nodded, brushed Sam's hair back again, and then held out a hand

"Hand me the thermometer, Dean," he ordered, waiting until the small instrument was placed into his hand "I'll keep him home until Monday." A small amount of coaxing before Sam allowed the thermometer into his mouth, and the thirteen year old shifted, moving from his fathers chest to sit on the bed beside him, leaning his head heavily against John's shoulder.

"M'head hurts," he murmured, thermometer clicking against his teeth in a reminiscence of the previous night

"You're sick again Sam," John told him "Should have phoned me earlier."

"I was alright," Sam replied stubbornly, sneezing hard so that his head shot forwards, and bounced heavily off the headboard as it went back, and the youngest Winchester blinked in surprise.

"Sure you are Sam," Dean smirked, though he was scowling in the next second "That's why you let that kid get the drop on you."

"I could have taken him," Sam shot back, the thermometer falling from his mouth and being caught up by John, who was watching the exchange with a calculating expression.

"If you weren't sick, yeah," Dean retorted, looking to his father, who merely nodded and fished out the bottle of Tylenol again, handing two tablets to Sam as Dean reached for the glass of water and handed it to Sam as well.

"Get some rest Sam," John ordered once the tablets were gone and the glass back on the side table, waiting until his youngest had nodded and fought briefly to get beneath the bed covers before leaving the room.

"Dad?" Dean asked, following after John, pausing just outside of Sam's room, and John stop as well, leaning carefully against the banister – which creaked and bent slightly but thankfully held his weight.

"What kid got the drop on Sam?" he asked

"Just some bully in his year I think," Dean replied, "Sam's right, he could get take him easily if he wasn't sick. He won't have any problems, I promise dad." John nodded, and then grabbed Dean by the shoulders, turning him back into the bedroom.

"Stay with him Dean," he told him quietly "I'll be downstairs, I need to make some calls. Just watch over your brother."

"How sick is he?" Dean asked, hovering at the doorway, wanting to get all the facts before John left him

"Temperature's about one-oh-four," John admitted, be quickly adding, "He'll be alright, just needs the rest, the Tylenol will kick in soon as well. Just, stay with him Dean."


	5. Chapter 5

5

John was not worried, so Dean should follow his lead and keep a level head and not worry, yet John's words stuck in his head, and had sent him to immediately check on Sam once he'd re-entered the room before turning and pacing at the foot of the bed.

_One-oh-four._ The numbers stuck in his head. _Sam had a temperature of one hundred and four._ Yeah, dad had said it was nothing to worry about, but Dean was positive that it wasn't good for Sam to be that hot. How hot did Sam have to be before his brain started frying? Before he would start to convulse?

It was four steps along the foot of the bed; Dean was clearing it in two seconds, spinning inwards to glance quickly at Sam sleeping sweatily in the bed before pacing to the other side. The numbers were running through his head still. One-oh-four. His fears running through his head alongside the numbers. _Convulsions; brain damage; Sam, dead. _One end of the bed to the other, his head beginning to spin now, the short repetitive track making him dizzy, and he wondered briefly if he should sit down. _No_. Sitting would allow his mind to dwell on Sam's fever. _One-oh-four_. If he was thinking this much already, how much would he think if was sitting and didn't have anything to preoccupy himself?

He was going into the third step when Sam moaned suddenly from the bed. The first sound he'd made in a while. _How long had he been pacing at the foot of the bed? _And Dean spun inwards, braced his arms on the metal frame of the bed, leant over it slightly, eyes running over Sam's face – chalk white except for the twin marks of red on his cheeks, and the rivulets of sweat running down his forehead, beading his upper lip.

"Sammy?" he called out tentatively, and Sam moaned again, his voice little more than a strangled cry, and had Dean pushing away from the frame and rushing around to the side of the bed, tripping over the metal foot as he took the corner and completing his run with a cursing hop. He collapsed onto the side of the bed, nursing one foot, and Sam moaned again, rolling towards Dean, head bucking and twisting, his forehead creasing as he mumbled unintelligibly and threw out an arm, landing it over his face and then throwing it out again, slamming it heavily into Dean's side before it dropped onto the bed between them.

"Sammy?" he called out again, reaching over and setting his hand on Sam's forehead, brushing back his sweat-soaked bangs. Biting his lip at the heat. _One-oh-four, convulsions, brain damage._ Sam moaned again, and he patted the mound under the covers where his legs were.

"You're okay Sammy," he assured him unconvincingly "I'm going to get dad, but you're okay." A hesitation, trying to decide whether he could leave his brother alone even for a moment before he was pushing off the bed, clearing the space between the bed and the door and throwing it open in seconds, glancing over his shoulder to look again at Sam, twisting and turning fitfully on the bed.

"Dad!"

A/N: Sorry for the long wait between updates. Got caught up in revision for exams. Will try to get a new chapter up by next Friday.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Last chapter up until the 29th I think people. My exams are starting week after next so I really need to revise and not write (although I should have been revising when I wrote this so we'll see how it goes).

Thanks to angel_death_dealer, who puts up with my numerous days of 'I'm going to write' (and then I never do) and also for putting up with my one sided conversation on what I should be doing before she gets to give her input and opinion.

6

"Dad!" a glance at Sam, still tossing and turning on the bed, and he shouted again, louder "Dad!" he was shaking now, entire body shivering with pent up energy and anxiety, and he again glanced back at Sam, his younger brother had fallen still between now and the last time he'd looked, his body spread-eagled within the bed, tangled in the bed sheets upset from his movements, he looked entirely like he'd just been sleeping, had just been moving around like he had when he had been younger, Dean couldn't remember when Sam had stopped squirming around once he'd fallen asleep, but it hadn't been to long ago, and the sight of his brother looking for all the world as though he was still within that more innocent childish time almost made him smile, except for the fact that he knew, knew Sam's unrest was do to the fever, and that fearful mantra was still running circles through his head '_One-oh-four, convulsions, brain damage'_

"Da-" he started again, turning his head from Sam to the landing, only to have his shout cut off when a hand clapped down over his mouth, and he looked up into the face of his father, he'd not heard the man arrive.

"I'm here," John admonished softly, removing his hand from Dean's mouth, wiping on his pants as he pushed his eldest to the side and moved across the room to Sam's side. His youngest was still, pale except for the points of fever, his breath sounding harsh as Sam forced air in and out of his mouth, his nose to blocked up to allow him to use that airway affectively.

"Sammy?" he questioned, sitting on the side of the bed beside his youngest, placing his hand on Sam's forehead. Dean had skittered into the bedroom after him, and now his eldest held out the thermometer, eyes jumping from his father to his youngest. The look on his face was worried, his gaze practically begging John to fix this, and the man took the thermometer silently, tearing his gaze away from Dean to focus his attention back on Sam, to get the thermometer back into his son's mouth.

"Sammy?" he called again, framing one side of Sam's face with his hand, smiling as Sam's head rolled, pushing up against his father's hand, and then his eyes opened, focused on his father before leaping to his brother.

"Wha-?" Sam croaked, gagged slightly when he realised the thermometer was in his mouth, and then managed to push himself up so that he was leaning against the headboard attached to the wall, pushing away his father's hands as he tried to help him, blinking and rubbing heavily at his head.

"Easy Sammy," John said, batting Sam's hands away from his head and easing his son's head up so that he could look into eyes that were clearer than they'd been an hour or so previously "How you feeling?" Sam looked at him, blinked heavily, slowly, trying to clear his head enough to think around the cotton wool that appeared to be filling it

"My sick?" he croaked eventually, watching his father nod and take the thermometer from his mouth, making him frown, he'd forgotten it was there.

"Tylenol's doing its work," John assured him, looking at Dean to make sure his eldest understood, watched the worry ease slightly from Dean's face and his stance change slightly, his muscle losing some of the tension they'd held since John had picked them up at the school. "No school until Monday, Sammy," he continued, turning his attention back to his youngest "No training either." He held back the smile when he noted the tension again ease slightly from Dean.

"'Kay," Sam agreed, body listing slightly in the bed, whatever energy he'd dredged up from his sleep ebbing away now, his eyelids drooped, and his head nodded down towards his chest, but he swung it towards where Dean was stood.

"Dea," his voice was little more than a murmur, still hoarse and rough, making it harder to understand, and Dean moved over, glancing nervously at their father, as if still not completely believing that Sam was getting better

"Yeah Sammy?" he said quietly, sitting down on the bed beside his brother, easing himself in next to the younger boy, allowing Sam to list onto his shoulder, and Sam snuffled quietly, shifting around until his chin was lying on Dean's shoulder, his mouth close to Dean's ear, hot breath chasing down it.

"Dea," he started again, whimpered, his eyes fluttering in the only show that he was still struggling against sleep "Don't let him get me Dea. He's watching. I don't want him to get me." Dean shifted his gaze to John for a moment, awkwardly moved his body so that he could wrap an arm around Sam as his weight increased on Dean's shoulder, letting the elder know that the boy had finally given into his exhaustion, and Dean thought of the kid who'd tripped Sam into the lockers earlier that day.

"I won't let him get anywhere near you Sammy," he promised.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the late chapter guys, my laptop used my sudden freedom from exams to die on me, so everything is being done on the house pc until I can buy a new one. I'm having to finght for pc time at the moment so things are a little slow right now... :(

Chapter 7

Dean touched the fence at the end of the garden, turning it abruptly and starting back towards the house, his gaze went up to the windows, staring at the part-closed curtains of Sam's room before he turned his attention back to the traffic cone John had set as the other marker for Dean's turn back. Five more feet and he'd turn and start the run back towards the back fence. Four feet. He'd be just over half way through the bleep-test John had set him, another ten minutes and he'd be finished, something Dean was grateful for, it had started raining fifteen minutes before and he was near soaked through. His hair – in desperate need of a cut – was beginning to hang in his eyes from the water, he'd need it cut before it was the same length as Sam's.

He'd reached the cone by now, and twisted smartly, his feet sliding for a moment before finding purchase in the mud, and he set off again for the back fence. Another thirteen rounds and he'd be done, thirteen rounds and he could go back inside, could grab a beer from the fridge and go and sit in with Sam again.

His head started to turn then self-consciously, and he forced himself to focus on the fence seven feet ahead, he'd have to look straight over his shoulder to see the window of Sam's room, and doing so would make him loose concentration and he'd probably end up on his ass in the mud. Thirteen more rounds and he'd be able to go inside. He'd just have to keep reminding himself of that, it would probably get him to finish it faster.

He reached out then, brushed his fingers against the fence, prayed that John wasn't watching to see Dean take off the last few feet with his little cheat, and he spun back around to face the house. His eyes immediately went to the part-open curtains of Sam's room whilst his body shifted to counter the slide he almost fell into. Sam wasn't at the window, kid was probably – hopefully – in bed still, he wouldn't see if Dean did land on his ass.

He forced his gaze again from the window, moved it down towards the traffic cone, and with a yell he slipped, and now really did hit the mud heavily, feeling the cold wet seep into his jeans.

A giggle made him remember why he'd fell, and he leapt up again, brushing one hand automatically against the seat of his jeans, and then scowled at his brother stood beside the cone.

"Damn it Sammy!" he hollered "You're supposed to be inside! Get back in there!" he started towards Sam, scowling as his brother moved out to meet him part way, and wrapped a hand around the kid's arm.

"A couple of minutes isn't going to kill me Dean," Sam said, giving his bother a smile that did nothing to ease Dean's temper, not with Sam stood beside him, his hair turning darker with the rain and shiver in his shirt – the kid wasn't even wearing a coat for Christ's sake!

"I'll believe you when I see it," Dean snapped back, practically dragging his brother into the house, he slammed the kitchen door and released Sam's arm, vaguely recognising the muddy handprint he'd left behind "Dammit Sam! This morning you still had a fever! You trying to get pneumonia?"

"Dean," Sam started, and Dean rounded on him

"No Sam!" he started "Don't even bother trying to argue. Does dad know you're up and outside?" he hardly paused to see Sam's depressed shake of the head before he was off again "Dammit Sam! If he knew you were out back he'd have us both running laps for a year! Get back to bed, seriously. I'm not having you sick again." He grabbed his brother by the shoulders, spinning him sharply in the direction of the hall and pushing him forwards, keeping a tight hold of Sam's shoulders as the boy stumbled, and Dean followed behind him, breathing heavily, trying to disperse the memory of Sam sick and fevered in bed, of John finally ordering Dean to run the test, swearing he'd stay and watch over Sam whilst he did so.

He wasn't aware that his grip had tightened on Sam's shoulders at the thought that John had blatantly lied to him until Sam yelped, and he murmured an apology as he released his brother, arms falling limply at his sides

"Where's dad gone Sam?" Dean asked as they reached the landing, and Sam paused with his hand on the door handle, glanced at his brother.

"The store," he said finally "I think he wanted to get some stuff for the kit." He swung the door open then, and stood in the doorway as he sneezed several times.

"That's it!" Dean shouted, grabbing Sam's shoulders again "In, get in!" he pushed the younger in ahead of him, propelling the boy towards the bed. The sheets were piled haphazardly at the bottom of the bed, Dean guessed Sam had escaped it as soon as John had left to go downstairs and see his brother.

"Get into bed Sam," Dean demanded, pointing towards the rumpled sheets

"But Dean-"

"Now Sam!" he shouted, and Sam nodded meekly, climbing into the bed and practically burying himself in the sheets, and stared at Dean with wide-eyes as he shivered.

"Just, stay there Sam," Dean ordered, holding his hands out in front of him for a moment "I'm going to get some drinks, just, don't move." He turned moving back out of the room.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was low, tentative, and Dean turned to see Sam still staring at him with remorseful eyes

"Sorry Dean," he continued "I was bored, and I wanted to be sure you were okay." The last bit was said in a whisper, but Dean caught it, knew that his brother had been having dreams, nightmares really, whilst he'd had the fever, and Dean was sure he'd been within them.

"I know Sam." He replied, forcing a smile onto his face "I'll be back." He waited until Sam smiled back, nodded an affirmative, and then turned and moved quickly back down to the kitchen, scowling at the front door and the empty drive beyond it as he went past. The only reason he had followed John's order was because he had promised to watch over Sammy, and yet he'd gone out, hadn't even told Dean he was leaving, couldn't wait the few minutes it would take Dean to finish his laps, and Sam had wound up going outside, perhaps getting sicker because of it."

Dean had gone into the fridge by now, and grabbing the milk carton he slammed the door shut, hearing the bottles of beer in the door clink together as he did so. Stealing one of John's beers didn't seem such a good idea now, he needed to keep his head clear to keep an eye on Sam.

"Dammit!" he hissed, thumping the carton onto the counter. The milk inside jumped, some of it spilling onto the counter, and for a moment Dean stared, breathing angrily before he moved away and collected two mugs, heating milk in the microwave and debunking chocolate powder into the mugs, he took the two mugs back upstairs, smiling slightly to see Sam asleep in the bed, though when he set the one mug down on the side table his brother cracked open an eye, watching Dean carefully.

"You angry with me?" he asked quietly, pushing himself up and snagging the drink up, he didn't look to sick, and for that Dean was happy, and the elder shook his head, sinking onto the end of the bed.

"Not you Sam. Dad." He said "The man said he'd watch you."

"I can watch myself Dean,"

"Sure you can," Dean responded "That's why you were out in the rain after a fever. You ain't got any sense Sam, I swear, and Dad's just as bad, he should know you're no good for doing as your told." He narrowed his eyes as Sam opened his mouth and shook his head "Just get some sleep Sam, I swear if you get sick again I'm kicking your ass."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Sam tugged the backpack straps higher, slamming the car door shut behind him. He heard Dean grumble half-heartedly over the engine as the car pulled away, and Sam smirked inwardly.

"Bitch," Dean muttered, slapping Sam upside the head lightly

"Jerk," Sam responded, grinning up at his brother, Dean offered him a smile, and then frowned

"You sure you're alright Sam?" he asked "You know Dad'll let you stay home if yo-"

"Dean," Sam responded, ducking his head slightly, eyes drawing towards the school "I'm fine."

"Sure you are," beside him Dean snorted, his eyes roving from his brother to a group of cheerleader who'd just walked past "Remember last time you said you were fine? Dad will have both our heads if you repeat that."

"I'm fine Dean," Sam responded firmly, shaking his head and moving off "I'll meet you here later." He'd not gotten far before Dean's hand dropped onto his shoulder, and the younger Winchester spun and looked up at his brother.

"You going to be alright?" Dean asked, his eyes were running over the groups of teenagers streaming towards the school buildings, and for a minute Sam thought he was looking at the giggling girls going by, before Dean's eyes settled again on him, and he noticed the concern, and realised that Dean was wondering over the trouble Sam had had with Jordan the week before.

"I'll be fine," Sam said sincerely, smiling amiably at his brother "It's nothing I've not dealt with before." He shrugged Dean's hand off, spinning and moving towards the school, waving at another boy as he went and the pair entered the building together.

Dean watched them go out of sight, and a low growl rose in his throat. Sam had had more than his fair share of bullies. Less than his fair share of friends. And he'd had no choice to adjust to the situation, the habit of moving two or three times in a school year had taught him to get used to and deal with the bullies or else.

The bell rang, a distant buzz in Dean's ear that he almost ignored, but then several girls from his class walked by him, one purposely jostling his arm and grinning back at him and a cocky grin crept onto his face as he swaggered after them into the school building.

X

Dean swaggered into the classroom, grinning cockily at the giggling girls that had passed him a minute before, and nodding his head at a couple of the boys he'd talked to on a few occasions he scraped his chair back and dropped into it, leaning as far back as he could before digging a well-chewed pen from his pocket, spinning it idly between his fingers.

"You're very quiet today Winchester," the soft voice in his ear startled him, but he held in the want to jump and instead leant back lazily, arm draping across the table of Marcy, eyeing her with a smirk, she grinned in reply, and ducked her head, looking out at him from behind a curtain of blonde "So what's got you brooding?" the smirk was replaced with a frown, and he tapped his pen against the table, easily picking out the rhythm of a Metallica song

"Sam," he muttered, thinking of the past few days and Sam's comment of his bully earlier. Marcy laughed softly, and reached out, fingernails trailing across the hand on her desk.

"That's why I like you Dean," she said conversationally "You always seem so cocky and loud, but I've seen you with your brother and you're so different and protective," she leant forwards now, her breath whispering against his ear "I think that's sexy." Dean blinked. Marcy Morgan, noted as hottest girl in the town, was flirting with him. He eyed her lazily, and she smiled back as she settled again into her chair, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder

"So they're showing Mission Impossible in Milan this Friday," she said, turning her head to look out of the window "My car's in the garage at the moment, you think you'd like to take me?" she shot him a look, lips turning to a pout.

Dean turned his head towards the front of the class, pulling his arm from her desk as the teacher walked into the room and barked for order. Midway through the lesson he sensed her mouth curve from a frown to a smile as he slipped a note onto her desk.

_Leave at lunch on Friday. Will pay for meal. Back for midnight curfew_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The bell signalling the end of the day had Dean up and sliding the books from his desk into the crook of his arm. Dodging between the desks, he startled when a hand slipped into his, and glanced over, smirking as the girl blushed and ducked her head, her eyes travelling up to catch his as she smiled back.

"So Dean," her voice little more that a seductive purr, and Dean raised an eyebrow at her, smirk increasing, as she stared back unabashed, "A bunch of us hang out at the diner just outside of town, you could come out with us, meet some of the others." Dean nodded at her words, when they'd arrived at the town they had driven by the small food place where the local kids hang out, had marked it as a place to possibly get some information, but had yet to find real reason to enter the crowded, rowdy hang out, distracted, he turn his eyes from Marcy, his gaze cutting through the crowd, searching.

"Some other time Marcy," he said, carefully pulling his hand from hers, eyes scanning the students pushing towards the front doors "I've got to find Sam and get home. ." She pouted, looking at him from under her eyelashes, but then reached up and placed a kiss on his chin before pulling away disappearing into the crowd. Dean watched her go for a moment, and then he was searching the crowd again, trying to find Sam from within the press of bodies. Finding himself hard pressed to find such a small kid within the press of taller kids, he was worried that he could lose Sam so easily due to his height, especially worried because of the trouble he'd been having, from how ill his brother had been so recently. He'd told Dad that letting Sam come back to school this soon after being sick had been a bad idea, what if Sam had gotten sick and was in the toilets throwing up, or passed out somewhere?

"Dean?" the familiar voice made him spin around, and Sam smiled up at him. Dean's eyes searched him, worry in his expression, trying to be sure Sam was alright, and then a smile broke across his face when he found nothing outwardly wrong.

"Alright?" he asked, the smile growing as Sam nodded, hitched his bag further up his shoulder, amused eyes landing on the books in Deans arm.

"You'll lose them if you don't get a bag," he stated, and Dean snorted, rolling his eyes as he pushed Sam forward and around, letting the kid lead the way.

"I won't," his voice held the tones of promise, and Sam felt the weight on his back increase "Because, Sammy-Boy, I've got you to carry them." Sam rolled his eyes, hitching the bag higher again, and Dean ruffled his hair.

"Atta boy Sammy," he laughed, stepping up beside his brother now, moving slightly ahead so he could shoulder the other kids out of the way, glancing back towards his brother, trailing behind him, and when they pushed out into the open, Dean stepped back, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him to one side, letting the stream of kids continue by them, backed into the low wall that edged the steps from the school doors.

"You alright Sam?" he asked, searching his brother's face, looking for signs of a fever, his eyes skewing to the side occasionally, hunting out the Impala on the road.

"'m fine, Dean," Sam responded, tugging unaffectedly against his brother's grip, eyes searching his brother's, trying to work out what Dean was going to find within his own eyes, and then Dean's hand released him, allowed Sam to step back slightly, only to be jostled by the press of students. A pair of hands pressed into his back, slamming him forwards, and Dean's hand grabbed at his shoulders, steadying him as he turned his head and watched Jordan's back disappear rapidly.

Dean's hands left him, and he heard his brother growl out of a curse, and Sam had barely enough time to turn and grab Dean's arm to stop the elder boy from running after the other kid.

"Dean, just leave it," he urged "Just... leave it."

"I'm gonna rip his lungs out, Sam," Dean growled back

"I can handle it, Dean," Sam said again, felt the muscles in Dean's arm relax, the tug on his own muscles cease as Dean stopped trying to fight against him.

"I know you can, Sam," he said, pulling Sam back in beside him, making sure the smaller boy was out of the rush of kids, though it was fast becoming a trickle, most of the students already moving down the street or in cars pulling away from the curb. "Just wish you'd hurry up about it." Sam grinned up at him, Dean was not the most patient of people at the best of times, and Sam had come to realise that impatience increased when something came up with his safety.

"Dad's late," Sam commented, sitting down on the low wall, swinging his bag down to his feet and searching through it.

"He probably got caught up," Dean replied, looking at the road again, searching for the familiar car in the few cars that were left, his hand delving into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone, checking it to see if there were any messages.

"I suppose," Sam responded quietly, he'd straightened up now, a thick book in his hands, and shifted around until his back was resting again the school wall, legs bent up in front of him so that he could rest the book against them. Dean glanced at him, rolled his eyes at the size of the book his brother was reading, wondering how Sam could cart something like that around school all day along with all his other books, and then he sat down on the wall beside him, nudging his legs with his arm until Sam's legs were drawn up closer to his body, and Dean had more room beside him. He fidgeted at the cell in his hands, willing it to ring there and then, for John to say he was running late, held up at the library or something, and he was on his way. Beside him Sam sighed, turning the page of his book, brushing long bangs from his eyes.

Dean watched him for a moment, eyes flickering to the side when two final students came through the door and moved down the steps, he glanced at his watch, and then again towards the road, though he knew the car wasn't there, he hadn't heard the roar of the engine yet, but he still felt the urge to check, as if to see if the car had appeared magically somehow.

"You two shouldn't be loitering," the voice made Dean start, and Sam's foot kicked out against him as the younger boy jumped as well. Cursing himself inwardly for not having paid attention, and reaching out to steady his brother, Dean turned his gaze to the stern looking woman who was watching them from the open doors.

"Our dad's running late," Dean mumbled "He'll be here to pick us up in a minute." The woman nodded, though her lips were still pursed

"You can wait in the library next time," she informed them "Loitering outside of the building isn't allowed." Her focus turned on Sam, making Dean shift closer to his brother, his body tensing, ready for a fight.

"What are you reading Sam?" the teacher asked, and the younger Winchester looked at her, face reddening for a moment, and then he shrugged.

"Just a book," the teacher stared at him, nodded slowly, and then offered a small smile

"Don't forget you've got a report in on Friday," she told him, waiting until he nodded before she moved back into the school building.

Dean watched silently, his body still tense as the woman's footsteps faded into the depths of the building, and then he turned his head towards Sam, the younger boy already engrossed in his book again.

"Who's she?" he asked, eyes flickering to the empty doorway

"English teacher," Sam said quietly, eyes flicking up for a moment and a smile flickering across his face as his brother visibly relaxed. Dean watched his brother for a moment, foot jiggling, and then he snapped up his phone again, hitting the buttons and holding it against his ear.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked, watching Dean as he shifted, moving away from the wall and moving across the step, eyes darting to the doors and the road, searching, vigilant.

"Phoning dad," Dean replied, listening intently to the phone and then sighing, bringing his hand from his ear and stowing the phone in his pocket, biting back a curse.

"Come on Sam," he said, jerking his head away from the school

"What about dad?" Sam questioned, swinging his feet off the wall and grabbing at his bag.

"We'll pass by him if he drives by," Dean told him, lunging forward and catching at Sam's wrist, stopping him from putting the book into the bag "What are you reading anyway?" Sam's face reddened slightly, and Dean examined the spine of the book, and then pulled it from Sam's hands to flick through the pages a little.

"Dude," he started, grin spreading across his face, allowing Sam to grab the Latin book back and stuff it into his bag before he pulled the bag onto his shoulders, "You are such a geek."


End file.
